Big Brother
by Author Espanya
Summary: Iceland wakes up one day to find that something has happened to the other Nordics. Something very... awkward. Not to mention ironic. ((updated irregularly))
1. Disaster

**Note: This story assumes that all five Nordics live in the same house.**

* * *

Saturday morning.

Usual routine. Get out of bed, stare at myself in the dresser mirror, be horrified at myself in the dresser mirror, fight with the others over access to the only bathroom on the second floor.

Everything was fine until that last part. I successfully managed to brush my teeth, comb my hair, wash the sleep out of my face and even take a shower without any older guys violently booting the door open. Maybe it was last night. They'd stayed up all night for drinks. I couldn't take alcohol (being physically 17 years old, I'm underage), so I had gone to bed early.

That, or I woke up late for once.

I left the bathroom and headed back to my room to get a change of clothes. Ever since that last time Denmark laughed at my PJs (he called me an oversized puffin all day even after I had taken it off), I had resolved never to allow myself be seen on my bedclothes in the lower levels of the house.

My wardrobe didn't offer a lot of variety. Twelve lopapeysas, several sets of uniforms and suits for World Conferences, various band t-shirts, jeans, the occasional normal shirt, some jackets and hoodies, all washed, ironed and neatly folded by Finland's gentle hands. I almost forced my way through the lopapeysas to get to the shirts.

Someone knocked on my bedroom door.

"Hold on! I'm coming out!" I called, hastily pulling on a generic blue t-shirt, followed by a pair of jeans and a grey hoodie. I found the nearest pair of shoes (a pair of black trainers), put them on and raced to the door. "Alright, what do you-"

There wasn't anyone at the door.

I glanced down the corridor, searching for a certain Dane escaping down the hall and giggling like a high-schooler.

Empty.

I was about to close the door when something tugged at my jeans leg.

I looked down.

And gasped in horror.

"...Big brother?"


	2. A Long Day Begins

My older brother was staring up at me out of his deep blue eyes. Except... he wasn't exactly older than me anymore.

He was now a pint-sized four-year-old boy, his usual clothes hanging around his shoulders like a cloak. When I didn't respond, he clung to my right leg. "Big brother?" he repeated.

I withdrew my leg from his grasp, then regretted it the moment I saw the disappointed look crossing his face.

_Big brother. He called me Big Brother._

He decided affection wasn't the best way to get my unwarranted attention. Plopping himself on the carpet, he gazed up at me out of those blue eyes, as if he could somehow control me with his gaze alone.

Ha, not going to happen. No way, Norway.

"..."

Still staring.

"Ugh, fine. Come here." I squatted down to meet his gaze and stretched my arms out. He stood up, brushed imaginary dust off his tush and trotted into my arms. I held him in that position for a moment, suddenly realising I knew squat about carrying little kids._ Let's see... how the hell did he carry me around all those years ago...?_

Ah, whatever. He's my brother anyway. Time to pay back for all that pestering.

Placing one hand under his bottom and the other on his back, I lifted him off the floor, almost disappointed that he didn't complain. He responded by falling against my shoulder, a faint smile across his lips.

That smile... Norway rarely smiled. Not for a long time; several hundred years, in fact. To see him like this...

Argh, what the hell! My brother had become some attention-seeking little kid! To hell with nostalgia and affection. I'd rather have my annoying brother continuously pestering me to acknowledge our "brotherly relationship".

I took my hand off his back and examined the folds of cloth hanging off him. "Let's get you changed into something more... snug," I decided, marching off to his room. "It's not the Middle Ages any more; long, flowy dresses and such aren't fashionable in this day and age."

He simply nodded, not objecting to his costume change at all.

* * *

I have no idea what I was expecting inside Norway's room but it definitely wasn't flying underwear.

With only one free hand and most of my view obstructed by one four-year-old Norwegian who liked me a little too much, I was a little too careful trying to open his room door, giving the chance for my assailant on the other side to prepare himself for his 'ultimate attack'.

The moment I cleared the entrance, something red-and-white flew straight into my face.

"What the hell?!" I cursed, ripping the thing off my face and throwing it on the floor.

It was a pair of red-and-white boxers.

Norway glared at the undergarment as if it was a demon, come through the gates of Hell. (Granted, the Hekla volcano, also known as "the gate of Hell", wasn't too far away from here) Somewhere to my right, someone broke into high-pitched, squeaky laughter.

Oh God. Don't tell me my brother wasn't the only one.

I nearly threw Norway onto his own bed, proceeding to apprehend the little tramp who had decided firing underwear at an older person was the best prank idea in the world.

There, squatting in a dark corner of the room, was a six-year-old Denmark, giggling uncontrollably under several layers of blankets and old Viking cloaks. Several red-and-white striped boxers lay in a heap next to him.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?!" I demanded, confiscating his underwear stash. "And how did you get into Norway's room?"

Denmark blew a raspberry in my face. "Not telling you!" he sneered.

I wasn't about to take incompetence from a disobedient six-year-old yet, so I pulled out some of the cloaks from underneath him and dumped them on his head. "You, shut your face," I ordered, ignoring his mad scramble for freedom. "Now, let's see what I can get for you, Norway."

Norway hopped off his bed, rearranged his oversized shirt, toddled over to his closet and, with much difficulty, inched the door open.

His closet was definitely more orderly than my own. (Then again, considering how I had to fight through a dozen lopapeysas to get to my other clothes, anyone's closet could look better than mine.) I ignored most of his clothes, though I couldn't help but notice that he owned several metal band shirts. Finally, at the back of the closet, I found a large cardboard box labelled "For Emergencies".

"What's this?" I wondered, hauling the box out of his closet. It was sealed with sticky tape and several layers of plastic wrap. Norway ran to his desk, found a penknife and handed it to me before I could object. I sliced the plastic and tape open, revealing the contents of the box.

Children's clothes. The box was full to the brim with children's clothes. I wondered vaguely about how Norway could have prepared for something like _this_._  
_

Norway closed in on the box, selected a blue shirt and matching pants and ran off, out of sight. I turned to Denmark, who was still trying to find his way out of the tangle of fabric.

I sighed. "Stop moving and I'll get you out of there and into some nice clothes. Fair swap?"

Denmark took one look at the swathes of fabric trapping him and pouted. "Fine."

I sat down in front of him, untangling the cloaks and blankets in a gentle manner, half-surprising myself with my behaviour. Was this what being an older sibling felt like?

It was no wonder Norway loved being acknowledged as so.

The moment I freed Denmark from his bounds, he slithered out of my grasp and attacked the box, sending little shirts and pants flying in all directions.

"H-hey! Stop that!" I commanded, scrambling towards him. He randomly chose a shirt and pants, pulled his own oversized clothing off right before my eyes and slipped into his new clothes before I could feel disgusted at his blatant disregard for his own privacy.

Finally, he extracted a red jacket out of the mess of clothing and tied its sleeves around his neck so that it flowed behind him like a cape. "I'm the King of Scandinavia!" he declared, parading up and down the length of Norway's room.

I glanced out of the room door. Two more possible kid Nordics to go.

This was going to be a long day.


	3. Breakfast Time

Norway reappeared moments later, dressed in his new (mostly blue) outfit. He gave Denmark a steely glare as he ran towards me. Denmark blew another raspberry as he marched past him.

Something growled. Denmark jumped, grabbing the nearest elongated object (a pencil) and brandishing it.

It took me a moment to realise that it was my own stomach. I hadn't had my breakfast yet. It was likely the others didn't, either. Considering under-tens couldn't even reach the stove in the first place. Today's breakfast was supposed to be Finland's job but unless he was somehow unaffected by this strange baby-spell, I'd have to take it upon myself to make breakfast.

I squatted down to face Denmark and Norway. "Hey. What do you two think I should make for breakfast?"

Norway shrugged. Denmark, still waving his pencil, roared, "PANCAKES!"

"Pancakes it is," I agreed, picking Norway up again. Denmark cheered. "Now let's get you two downstairs, find Finland and Sweden, and get some food into your stomachs."

* * *

Sweden and Finland weren't too hard to find. All I had to do was follow the dog.

The moment I reached the bottom of the stairs, Finland's dog Hanatamago trotted over to my side, barking urgently. I set Norway on the floor and told him to wait with Denmark in the dining room.

Hanatamago led me into the living room. It seemed like the first place Sweden would take refuge in- most (if not all) of the furniture originated from IKEA. That, and the fact that there was a humongous pillow fort in the middle of the room, right in front of the television. There was a three-year-old little guy, wearing the largest shirt I'd ever seen, poking its walls with a foam Minecraft sword.

"Come out now, Sve," he called, stabbing one of the pillow walls with his foam sword. It shifted about half an inch inwards and whoever was inside yelped.

"Never!" The fort's occupant yelled in defiance. One of the pillows forming the fort's roof lifted up and a red Angry Bird plush flew out of the opening. It missed the young attacker, smacking me in the face instead. The guy with the sword, who was following the red bird's trajectory, giggled as I plucked it out of my sight and hurled it over the sofa. Hanatamago trotted over to his side. He squealed happily and cuddled the fluffy little creature.

Granted, red birds weren't as obscene as red underwear, but I was fuming. "And just _what_... do you two think you are doing in the living room?"

Finland, the three-year-old with the sword, sat up with Hanatamago in on his tiny lap. "Swe built this thing here and, uh... asked me to attack it or something!"

"I did not!" A yellow bird plush sailed out of the fort's roof opening, barely missing Finland's head. "Ya just found th' sword and decided t' attack me!"

"You took all of my birdies!" Finland protested, abandoning Hanatamago for his sword. He resumed his 'relentless assault' on the fort.

"Ya weren't sharin'!" Sweden objected, resealing the gap in his fort roof.

"'Cause they're mine!" Finland waddled behind his pet dog and pointed her at the pillow fort. "Go, attack Swe's castle!"

Sweden yelled in protest as Hanatamago charged at his fort, bringing the whole thing down in a huge mess of pillows and cushions.

That did it. No more Mr. Nice Big Brother.

I took hold of Finland's oversized shirt and plucked him off the floor. He struggled against my grasp, repeatedly whacking my arms with his Minecraft sword. It didn't hurt at all but it was plenty annoying.

"Wahhh! The evil grey monster caught me!" he wailed, flailing his own tiny arms. "Help me, Swe!"

Sweden, who was now a five-year-old kid (and thankfully, somehow had the sense to change into more suitable clothes for his size), glanced up. "Nej," he replied, tossing another red bird at Finland. It bounced off his head and rolled under the sofa.

I sighed in exasperation. "For the love of- Sweden. Clean up that mess _right now_."

"And what if I don't?" he shot back.

"I'll feed you your own surstromming."

Sweden seriously considered the offer/threat.

"Fine," he decided, "I'll clean it up."

* * *

After a gruelling fifteen minutes in the Nordic kitchen, breakfast was finally complete and the others were all happily seated around the dining table with their pancakes. Denmark declared me the 'Royal Cook of Scandinavia' when I gave him his pancakes by poking me in the arm with his pencil. Finland and Sweden were still shooting each other dirty looks as they ate. (At least Sweden didn't do too much of a bad job putting the pillows away.) The moment I sat down, Norway promptly slid his plate over to the seat next to mine and sat down next to me.

"Is big brother okay?" he asked with genuine concern, offering his second pancake to me.

I glanced at him for a moment. To be honest, I was anything but _okay_. In the space of one night, I'd become the head of our 'family'. I remembered how I used to fantasize about taking on this position; everyone would listen to me, I could boss them around and they couldn't complain, etc. Now, I knew better. Being an older sibling was terrible. Whatever had happened to them, I wanted it gone. I wanted my good old(er) Nordics back.

"Maybe." I pushed Norway's plate back. "You can have it. I've already had enough."

Norway tilted his head in confusion, pointing at my empty plate. "But you haven't eaten anything yet," he informed me. Before I could give him some kind of witty answer about older sibling's immunity to hunger, he dumped two pancakes on my plate, followed by half a block of butter. For showing such concern for my health, I had no choice but to eat as well.

Watching them finish off breakfast, I was just beginning to relax when it hit me. I had barely survived a morning with these brats.

How long was I going to be stuck with them before I couldn't take it anymore?


	4. Angry Birds

**A.N. I checked the visitor count and nearly fainted. Other than the usual readers from America and my own country (Singapore), I've had readers from the UK, Philippines, Canada, China, Germany, New Zealand, France, Malaysia, Brazil, Austria, Italy, the Czech Republic, Poland, Spain, Hong Kong, Switzerland, Thailand, Colombia, Sweden, Norway, some other countries in Europe that were simply referred to as "Europe" for some reason and even motherflippin' Iceland himself. And Big Brother has only been around for like, four days? (HetaOni NB8 took a lot more time to get to this level) Kiitos paljon to all my wonderful readers! I will make sure I won't let you down!**

* * *

Norway offered to help me with the dishes after breakfast but I refused, on the consensus that he couldn't reach the sink with his size. Slightly disappointed, he left to glare at Denmark, whatever that guy was doing.

I just stood in front of the sink for the next fifteen minutes, absentmindedly scrubbing and rinsing plastic plates (you can already tell I'm such a capable big brother). Somewhere, something fell down with a loud crash. I could hear angry Swedish screams coming from the living room.

If I was going to live through the day with these kids, I needed a game plan.

Following breakfast, I had four hours to burn before lunchtime. After that, another six or seven hours, followed by dinner, three more hours of free time and finally, bedtime at ten. That meant about thirteen hours of the day where anything could go wrong. Thirteen. Even the Universe wanted to curse me with bad luck.

Four hours... what could I do with four hours of free time?

Something flew into the kitchen and landed on the floor with a soft thud. I replaced the last plate on its drying rack and turned around just in time to see Finland retrieving a blue bird plush from under the kitchen counter.

He noticed me watching him and ran up, holding the plush up for me to see.

"Wanna play?" he asked, smiling warmly.

What could I say? His smile was so... irresistable. I accepted the plush and stared blankly at it, wondering what to do with it. Finland, noticing my confusion, skipped several metres away to the kitchen door and waved his arms. "Throw it at me! Throw it, big brother!" he called out.

Well, you know what they say. If you can't beat them, _join_ them.

I hurled the bird at Finland. It smacked him straight in the face, sending him reeling backwards. He didn't complain. In fact, he giggled.

"My turn!" he announced, picking it up in his tiny hands. He wound back, pinwheeling his arms for maximum throwing distance. With a small cry, he thrust it forward.

I watched as it touched down barely a foot away from me.

"Waah! Why didn't it hit you?" Finland wailed, darting over to the bird plush. He picked it up again and used it to whack me several times. "It's hitting you! It's hitting you! Why aren't you poofing up in green pig-smoke yet?"

I simply let him hit me with the bird plush. "Because... I'm not a pig?"

He gazed up at me, perplexed. "Well, what are you then?"

I spread out my arms, revealing my grey hoodie sleeves in full. "The Mighty Eagle," I replied.

I couldn't help it. This 'playtime' thing was actually kind of fun.

Finland gasped in amazement. "Wow! The Mighty Eagle! Can you come with me, Eagle? I need help crushing the evil Swedish pig's Pillow Fort!"

"Crushing? Is that really necessary?" I asked him.

"Isn't that what all Mighty Eagles do?" he replied.

I briefly attempted to recall the Angry Birds games Finland used to show me. He was right; in the games, the Mighty Eagle could be summoned in-game to crush the pigs' castles when it got simply too frustrating flinging small birds at strategically built stone forts.

I sighed. "Alright then. Show me the castle you want me to crush."

"Yay! Kiitos!" Finland took my hand, leading me out of the kitchen. "Come on, hurry up!"

* * *

Unfortunately for Finland's Mighty Eagle, Sweden the Pig King had been 'recruiting' bodyguards.

"Wahahaha! Your king has come to fight off the invaders!" Denmark, who had planted himself in front of Sweden's new Pillow Fort, declared. He had taken Finland's foam Minecraft sword and was waving it in the air, as if that would be enough to scare me off.

I scanned the living room. Sweden was nowhere to be seen but he was probaby inside the fort. Norway sat on the sofa, calmly reading a picture book. He didn't seem affected by the general battle noises and Danish yelling.

"Ha! That doesn't matter because I have the Mighty Eagle!" Finland shot back, gesturing dramatically at me.

Denmark took one look at me and burst into laughter. "That's no eagle, dummy! That's big brother Icey!"

Norway glanced up at the words 'big brother'. He stared at me for a moment, then returned to his book in earnest.

"Don't call me _Icey_," I muttered. "I have a proper name."

Finland huffed. "You don't believe me? Fine then! Mighty Eagle, attack the pig's castle!"

What was I supposed to do? I shuffled over to Sweden's fort, making lame eagle noises and flapping my arms as I closed in on it. (Somewhere, America is cringing in horror; I'm sure of it) Denmark, realising I had effortlessly bypassed his imaginary defence line, charged at my legs with his sword. Nothing but annoyingly useless whacks on my jeans legs.

I delivered a swift kick on one of the fort's walls. The entire thing collapsed around Sweden almost instantly.

"Waaah! What didja do to m' fort?!" Sweden yelped from underneath the pillow pile.

Finland jumped for joy. "Yay! We crushed the evil pigs' lair! Eagles are stronger than lame old Danish kings!"

"No fair!" Denmark threw his sword at the Finn. It landed with a tiny _plop_ on the carpet. "You got Icey to help you! He's bigger than all of us!"

"Just shut up and help me rebuild this thing, Den," Sweden cut in, already attempting to rebuild his fort.

I joined Norway on the sofa, watching Sweden's rebuilding efforts. Norway offered me his book and asked me to read to him. It was much more relaxing than crushing evil Swedish forts so I quickly agreed.

And that was how I survived my first morning with four young kid Nordics.


	5. The Obligatory Supermarket Routine

Lunch time in one hour.

I studied the contents of the refrigerator. (for those who are wondering, I am NOT in an affair with that thing) Most of it was occupied by a six-pack of Coca-cola (mine), a dozen bottles of beer (not mine), several blocks of butter, a gallon tub of vanilla ice cream and some fish. Not exactly lunch material for under-ten kids, except for the ice cream which I could probably use to bribe them into behaving themselves later. I sighed. Guess I'd have to do a little grocery shopping.

The problem with shopping for groceries for five Nordic nations was that we all used different currencies. Other than Finland, who was part of the Eurozone and therefore used the Euro, all of us had our own respective currency, all of which weren't any better than Finland's Euro. Because of this, Finland was usually the one with the job of grocery shopping. However, since I couldn't trust a three-year-old with our pantry, I had to take over that role for the time being. Unfortunately for me, my Icelandic Króna isn't worth a lot compared to the Euro and I didn't exactly have a lot of cash with me then so I wouldn't be able to afford the things Finland usually bought for us.

Well, since the others were kids... Normally I wouldn't steal but they wouldn't mind if I 'borrowed' their money this time, right?

After making sure that the others weren't going to hurt themselves (Norway took it upon himself to watch everyone else for me), I dashed upstairs.

* * *

I came back down with about seventy-five Euros worth of cash. If you asked me where I found it, well... let's just say Norway is a really rich kid. I found a shopping basket in the kitchen and headed towards the front door. Unfortunately, that meant I'd have to get past the living room, where all those brats dominated. I didn't want to walk around in a supermarket with four kid Nordics trailing behind me. Imagine all the pestering I'd have to endure!

It was kind of hard trying to sneak through the large, mostly minimalist room with a huge basket without being seen by at least two hyperactive Nordic kids so naturally, I was caught. My grey outfit should have helped, but Finland had the eyes of a Mighty Eagle.

"Ice! Where are you going?" he called from all the way across the room.

All four Nordics turned to stare at me.

I froze on the spot. I'd only made it halfway across; guess I wouldn't make a good ninja, I suppose.

"I, um... just going out to the supermarket." I held up my shopping basket. "You know... get some stuff for your lunch or something."

"Ooh! Ooh!" Finland bounced up from the sofa. "Can I come?"

"Oi, me too!" Denmark literally leaped over several heaps of pillows (they were still going on with the pillow fort thing) and tugged at my jeans. "I wanna go to the store with you!"

I shot Sweden and Norway a 'don't you dare' look. Sweden simply shrugged and returned to rebuilding his fort (again) but Norway put his book down and stared at me as if he was telepathic, or attempting to mind-control me.

I gave up and threw my basket on the floor in frustration. "Alright, I get it! I'll take you all down to the store! But only if you will help me with the groceries afterwards. And no running off or you're, uh... grounded for the rest of the week!"

Denmark straightened up and saluted. "Yes, sir!" he squeaked, giggling uncontrollably.

I retrieved the shopping basket and marched off towards the front door, four miniature Nordics trailing behind me in single file.


	6. I HATE Shopping

"Ooh, ooh! Can we buy that?"

No.

"Can I go over there?"

_No._

"Hey, that thing looks-"

**_No._**

I should have just stood my ground and left them all back at the house. They were driving me INSANE. Actually, it wasn't just the kids. The whole universe was conspiring against me.

First of all was the car ride. Of course, there were the usual 'are we there yet' type of questions Denmark kept asking that naturally got on my nerves. Finland and Sweden started an intense Rock-Paper-Scissors game in the back seat. (When I say 'intense', I mean that the loser kept throwing a tantrum every time he lost) The only one who wasn't joining in the general racket was Norway, who had somehow fallen asleep in the passenger seat next to me. If you ask me how he got there, he... 'convinced'... me with those deep blue eyes of his.

But noisy kid Nordics were the least of my problems.

With a physical age of seventeen, I was barely old enough to drive a car. At least, I was at my place. Unfortunately for me, that wasn't the case for the rest of Europe.

As I drove through the streets of Helsinki, I was stopped over a dozen times by traffic police because I looked underage. Too young to drive a car in Finland and, as if it wasn't obvious enough, too young to have four kids as well. I couldn't just tell them I was a centuries-old personification of that volcanic island nation halfway across the Atlantic... so I simply showed them my European Driver's Licence (from my place of course) and left them behind once they were convinced it was real. The 'aren't you a little young to have four kids' question got so irritating after the first few police officers I put on a 'babysitter' badge on for the rest of the trip.

Typically, it went like this:

**Officer:** Hey, you there.

**Me:** Yes?

**Officer**: How old are you?

**Me:** Um... seventeen?

**Officer:** You have to be at least eighteen to own a licence and drive, boy.

**M**e: I- Ugh, I have a licence, okay?

**Officer:** But you're too young to have a licence.

**Me:** (deep breath) I'm Icelandic. I have a licence. (shows driver's licence to officer)

**Officer:** Hmm... seems legitimate. Okay, you may go.

**Me:** (drives off) Thank goodness-

**Officer:** Wait!

**Me:** (emergency brakes) What?

**Officer:** Aren't you a little young to have four kids?

**Me:** (faceplants on steering wheel) Officer... Have you heard... of a _babysitter?!_

**Officer:** Ohhhhhh. Okei, you may go now. Cute kids by the way!

**Me:** AAAAAAARGH

Then, there were the old grandmothers I walked past on the way from the car park to the supermarket. I should have worn something more obvious than a 'babysitter' badge as I kept hearing them clucking behind my back.

"That kid over there..."

"Four kids at this age?! Tsk, tsk."

"Teenagers these days..."

"Don't they know abstaining is the best way to prevent something like that?"

I really, _really_ wanted to punch something, listening to them whisper about me as if I couldn't hear them. For heaven's sake, I'm _over a thousand years old_ and those weren't _my_ kids! Couldn't they hear the little boy with the curl calling me "Big Brother" every twenty seconds? However, once again, I couldn't just tell the world I was a personification. I simply frowned and carried on.

You can tell I wasn't in good shape to bear the adorable wrath of four under-ten kids in a Finnish supermarket.

The moment we stepped into the supermarket, Denmark and Finland dragged me into the Confectioneries section. Not surprising for two overly-active kids with a serious taste for sugar, but that was the last thing they needed immediately before lunch. After the car trip, I had only half an hour left to finish my shopping, drive back to the house and somehow come up with a decent meal before they began complaining about my irresponsibility.

I grabbed Finland by the back of his shirt just as he was about to run for the candy shelves. (By the way, in case you were wondering when he swapped his huge shirt for Norway's baby clothes, it was slightly before breakfast time) "Look here. I am not going to buy you any candy this time around. You already have a secret stash of salmiakki somewhere in your room and there's a gallon tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer waiting for you all to get back if you remain quiet while I buy the stuff I need for lunch. Do you understand?"

At the prospect of earning ice cream for the cheap price of his silence, Finland agreed with a huge smile.

Denmark gasped rather dramatically. "When did we get ice cream?! There wasn't any when I raided the town of Fridgeshire!"

I blinked. "Fridgeshire. Yeah, they don't have ice cream. It's... not cold enough."

"Then where is the ice cream?" he demanded.

I sighed and decided to play along. "Once I'm done here, I will journey to the far-off northern lands of Freezerhaven. There, I'll acquire the ice cream you seek, but only if you would just shut up and let me find the stuff I'm looking for here, which are important supplies we need for our journey."

"Really now?" Norway cut in.

"Shh. I'm being diplomatic." I turned back to the six-year-old Dane. "So, will you assist me by helping me find the holy Carrots and Lettuce? They help you defend yourself against the evil demons they call... Germs."

Denmark deeply inhaled. "Germs! Okay, this way!"

As expected, he began dragging me towards the Fruits and Vegetables section.

_Success._


	7. Nap Time is for Babies

**Oh my God, it's been over a year! What _have_ I been doing since then?!**

**Doing things like managing ask accounts and making HetaGames, that's what. (I run Ask-the-Spaniard on dA. Spain says _hola._) It leaves little time for my creative writing pursuits. My muse is now elsewhere... but that doesn't mean I can't write for the Nordics. Let's hear it for the long-overdue Chapter Six...**

* * *

For all the chaos I'd taken on in the preparation of the day's lunch, I was rewarded with a mostly uneventful lunchtime. All four kid Nordics were surprisingly well-behaved when I served up their vegetables. The ice cream bribe worked... probably. Well, I am the Land of Ice... Cream... after all? They believed that so long as they behaved, I'd reward them with some freezing cold sweetened dairy products. The gallon tub wasn't going to last forever so I hoped this kiddy problem would be the same. I don't think I can stand an eternity stuck with baby versions of my extended 'family' screaming for, well, ice cream.

First of all, I needed a break. And what better way for an already exhausted caregiver to catch their breath than sending those rowdy kids off to bed? (Sure, there are better ways but they probably didn't occur to me then) They'd spent an entire morning besieging/holding a pillow fort with Angry Birds and Minecraft swords, of all things. If they weren't tired from doing all that, I'd be surprised.

The main problem was where I could let them sleep safe and sound, in the same room if possible. I didn't want to have to run around their individual rooms when they needed anything. (I'm lazy like that.) We had one room reserved for Sealand when he came over, but the bed was way too small for four kids. I knew that Norway's bed wouldn't be big enough either and as for my own... forget that. I don't want _any_ kids in my room. _Ever_.

I left the others in the living room listening to Denmark recounting his 'heroic journey' and slipped up the stairs to do a little bit of bedroom recon.

* * *

I took one look into Denmark's room and decided: nope.

Usually, by early afternoon Finland would have cleaned it up. Unfortunately, three-year-olds don't know how to make other people's beds. As a result, I had the privilege of viewing the Danish King's room in all its nonexistent glory. I quickly added it to my mental to-do list; someone had to do all the dirty work, after all.

That left the last bedroom: Finland and Sweden's.

You heard me. Those two shared one room. When we first got this house, there weren't enough rooms so Sweden offered to share one with Finland. Why he did that, I can never be sure of the answer. However, it's been that way since then and nobody has complained about the arrangement so we simply went with it.

The point is that, considering how Sweden made his own furniture, it was likely he'd made a huge bed for himself and/or Finland. Of course I could have just thrown all the kids into their room and got on with the day, but I didn't really feel like intruding _their_ privacy first. Besides, throwing kids anywhere is kind of rude. I have been thrown into my fair share of places so I'd know how that feels.

Let's move on to the Big Reveal already.

I pushed the door open, half-expecting its contents to glow in an almost holy light and heavenly music to start playing from how amazing the room was.

...You knew that was _sarcasm_, right?

What I saw wasn't exactly holy to begin with, but it certainly was the answer to my nonexistent prayers.

The room was spacious, everything was (more or less) nailed down, so to speak- as if anticipating tiny Danish wrath- and the bed was _HUGE_. Granted, Sweden himself was a big guy. The sheets were still untidy and there were some rather, ahem, questionable things lying around on the floor, but it was _the_ best thing I'd seen all day.

Getting the kids into the room was easy with another promise of ice cream. Keeping them there was _not_.

Denmark refused point-blank to stay in bed. Every time I turned my back to head out, I found him attempting to slip out from his spot between Norway and Sweden to invade the latter's closet. Apparently, he believed I'd give him his ice cream so long as I was convinced he remained in the room, which theoretically gave him at least an hour of playtime when he was supposed to be asleep. Norway barely protested to his immediate naptime neighbour's shenanigans besides some minor complaints of "Bror, you're annoying" and Sweden was busy trying to snuggle with Finland, who was (thankfully) already asleep moments after I put him in bed.

Luckily for my frayed nerves, Sweden finally grabbed Denmark and set him down in his place. He would have punched the guy if I hadn't threatened to forfeit his share of the ice cream as punishment.

* * *

I settled into a chair in front of my PC. (What? I can own a computer, right?) After checking updates on various social networking sites, I noticed a new, unread email in my inbox.

It was from Germany.

The subject read, "World Conference Tomorrow."

Oh no.


End file.
